By the Force of His Will
by WinterRepublic
Summary: After Lily died, he just needed someone to blame. Harry looked so much like her that it was almost too easy—impossible not to blame him for everything—everything that Lily could not do.


_**Disclaimer:** You know what? I woke up this morning and looked in my safe to find the contract...NOT THERE. Voldemort and Snape are dead and Harry married Ginny. It MUST have been a dream. _

**Title:** By the Force of His Will

**Art:** Nope

**Warnings:** SLASH. James and Sirius are alive. This contains both _**chan**_ and _**incest**_. It will be _**dark**_ and also have _**implied non-con and dub-con**_. If this bothers you, **do not read it**.

**Pairings:** James/Harry, Sirius/Harry, Severus/Harry

**Summary:** After Lily died, he just needed someone to blame. Harry looked so much like her that it was almost too easy—impossible not to blame him for everything—everything that Lily could not do.

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**x.X.x**

_**By the Force of His Will**_

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**x.X.x **_…And in this world…_** x.X.x**

He couldn't help himself.

He had to do it.

He had no choice lest he begin to blame himself. Or someone else—those little children just standing there—those inanimate objects he encounters every day. Or even those who had nothing to do with it.

But he didn't mean it.

But he meant every word he said.

Harry just didn't understand. He didn't understand the words yelled at him every day. He didn't understand the hatred that was poured onto him like a never ending well of accusation—water. He didn't know that he looked so much like _her_.

Like Lily.

He didn't know.

He didn't know her.

He never will.

They shared the same lips and the nose. He even shared her vibrant green eyes—the same lustrous eyes that made my heart pound and butterflies dance to unheard music in my belly. How those butterflies got there, I'll never know.

And still…

I left him home alone a lot. Sometimes I would let Sirius stay with Harry, but I needed my friend more than Harry did. Sirius was _my _friend. He was James's everything now. He wasn't Lily's friend. He wasn't her anything.

That meant he wasn't Harry's either.

Sometimes, I would blame Lily for not loving me enough. I would yell, scream and cry out all of my frustrations. When she would cry too, I shut the door and ignored her. Let the house elves take care of her. She didn't need me.

She didn't need anything.

"Ma" was the first word spewed from your lips—your beautiful lips. I dropped the bowl I had in my hand and threw down the spoon that would, now, never reach your lips. I hated you in that moment. I was James. I wasn't your mother.

But I wasn't your father either.

Kissing and touching was another matter entirely. The first time you touched me, I didn't mind. You felt so warm. You would cuddle up beside me while I read in the evenings and sometimes just because you felt the need to do so.

And I let you.

When you kissed me, I can't exactly tell you what happened. Your lips were so soft—petals. Your skin was so warm beneath my hands—so pliant. You were so ready to love me, but the scared look in your eyes told me that you weren't ready for me to love you back. Not yet anyway.

I just kissed you back.

You were leaving. I knew it would happen one day, I just wished it wasn't so soon. In that moment, I missed Harry. You let me hold you—kiss you—touch you. You tell me that you'd be back for the holidays…but I don't believe you. Just like last time, Lily would go.

And she wouldn't come back.

He likes to lay by Lily in bed at night and watch her sleep. He adores the way her chest moved up and down in a calming pattern and how her fingers curl slightly as she slept. He loves the way her brows furrow when he disturbs the bed to lay down and the way her lips pouted—looking red in the lack of light.

His breathing hastened.

He likes the way she sighs breathily when he pet her smooth skin. He likes how she moans quietly when he ran his fingers along her thighs—how they spread willingly. He liked to imagine how her hands would feel when they touched his skin—his manhood. He would often reach out and take her hands and trace the palms as lovingly as he traced the lines of her body.

In the end, he always stopped himself by the sheer force of his will. Just before he did anything he might regret.

Something he wasn't willing to acknowledge just yet.

But come tomorrow, he'd know the truth.

It will be only just enough.

**x.X.x **_…Where nothing else is true_**… x.X.x**

He knew he couldn't stop if he wanted.

Because he wanted this too much.

Harry loved to read. Ever since he was small, there was nothing but a book in his hands. He was intelligent too. He knew what James did to him—what he didn't. He also knew what I did to him—and what I wanted to do to him.

He didn't know my secret though.

Vibrant green eyes would stare knowingly into my back, or watch me as I left the house with James. Sometimes I think he knew that we were leaving him on purpose. Sometimes I think he knew that every single one of those times—we wished we didn't have to come back.

Just like Lily.

I hit him sometimes. Just because I can. I like the small little cries he makes when I do. I like the little marks I leave on his body—like a possession. I like the way he struggles to find a reason in what I do…I like the desperation in his eyes when he can't find any. It arouses me. It scares me beyond all reason.

And I just want to hit him again.

He's changed. Sirius knows this, but it doesn't stop him from wanting to change him back. He knows that it isn't Harry's fault, but he can't help but to blame him. He can't help but to blame Lily. It's her fault James has changed, and since Harry looks just like her, that makes it his fault too. He almost convinced James once.

To leave Harry.

He mumbled something inaudibly and said something about getting home to Lily. I knew who he meant though. You look so much like her. But…you must have changed something in me too, because I didn't reach out to stop him.

I let him go.

He was so _obsessed_ with you. I could see how he looked at you. And it made me envious. Though, at that moment, I couldn't tell you who I was more envious of. Perhaps it was you, but it always came back to you. I was envious because James smothered all of his attention on you. I was envious because you enjoyed it. You don't deserve it. James was _my_ best friend. He was _mine_.

You don't deserve him.

Sirius hears how James calls Harry, Lily. And he hates it. He hates how Harry just accepts it—how Lily wasn't there to stop it. She left James with a fractured heart and a child that he had no intentions of raising by himself—alone.

He blamed Lily.

He knows how James slips into Harry's bed at night and how he touches Harry like he was Lily. He knows how James whispers Lily's name into the night—a prayer. Sirius knew it was wrong, but this aroused him too. One should know the dangers of that.

He blamed Harry.

Sirius likes when he gets to watch Harry, by himself, for whole nights and days. He likes to sit next to—on the bed and imagine that Harry had stopped breathing. He likes to wrap his fingers around the elegant throat and _squeeze_ it. He wouldn't admit it even if you asked, but he also likes the breathy moans that Harry releases after he let's go. Just once he would like to hear them all over again.

Because Harry's leaving.

And Sirius hates that.

He likes to lie in the bed next to Harry. He likes the skin-on-skin and the warmth it brings. He enjoys the way Harry clings to him and presses his soft, hairless skin to his own. He likes the small hands as they grasp tightly to his shoulders as he tightens his grip on that pale throat—how he thrusts against those soft white thighs. He can't stop himself from soiling Harry's legs, stomach and thighs on those nights.

In the end, he always stopped himself by the sheer force of his will. Just before he did anything he might regret.

Something he wasn't willing to acknowledge just yet.

But come tomorrow, he'd know the truth.

It just may not be enough.

**x.X.x **_…Here I am…_** x.X.x**

He knew he could stop if he wanted.

But he didn't want to.

He waited for years to blame James—Lily. She was one of the most intelligent people he knew. But she placed herself in a stupid position and finished it off with stupid decisions. He told her that he loved her. He told her that he didn't want to be invited to the wedding. He told her that it should have been him.

She didn't deny it.

He blamed Harry for it.

You are just like Lily. You're always reading something. But you prefer your books over your friends. This is the only difference between you. You share everything else and I was hard pressed not to call you Lily in front of the class. I just couldn't bring myself to blame her as I should have.

But I could blame you.

So I did.

I treated you badly. I treated you the way I wanted to treat Lily. I know that you aren't her, but you share so many similarities that it's hard to tell anymore. I dole out detentions like Halloween candy—to see you. The way you fight back entertains me.

It arouses me.

Albus never corrects this behavior. He knows this is wrong, but he loves Severus as a man would a son. As a man _should_ love his son. The Headmaster knows more than he lets on and he knows that everyone is beginning to notice. But still, he cannot find it in himself to correct Severus's behavior. He can't see the man doing anything wrong. He blames himself.

Because he knows when he sees a man in love.

Severus just watches him from his desk. Harry is scrubbing cauldrons again. He watches the small hands gently wash away the day's grime on the black surfaces. He imagines those hands on him. He notices the unintentional seductive arch in the boy's back and the elegant curve of his neck. He imagines he can see Harry's pulse moving under the pale skin.

And for a moment, he can.

I despise Lily for conceiving you. She did this with every intention of leaving me a memory of herself. A memory that I would rather forget. Giving me something I can't get rid of. But I like to touch that memory. I like the way it feels so real beneath my cool palms—burning my hands like fire. I hate Lily for this—you.

But he loved her.

He can love Harry too.

He likes to lie in the bed next to Harry and feel the naked skin against his own. He likes the way Harry run's his small hands over his cold skin and how he arches into every touch bestowed upon him. He enjoys that way Harry cries out breathily as he is entered harshly and taken with no kindness. He loves how beautiful Harry looks when in ecstasy.

He loves how Harry knows he's being punished too.

He likes to lie quietly at night and listen to Harry breathe. He likes to trace the lines of Harry's body while he sleeps—it's comforting. He likes to know that Harry is alive. He likes to wake up in the morning and know that Lily isn't there. He likes to know that it's Harry behind those vibrant green eyes—not a nightmare. He likes to know that he can love Harry too.

In the end, he always stopped himself by the sheer force of his will. Just before he did anything he might regret.

Something he was willing to acknowledge.

And come tomorrow, he'd know the truth.

It will just not be enough.

**x.X.x**_ …Still tangled up in you… _**x.X.x**

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**A/N:**

Bites that it doesn't say which "he" the summary refers to, huh? Yeah, I know. But I wanted to because it got finished in the same hour just be fore _Separate Tables_. Time to get back to work then. Ciao. :)


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